


Holy Night

by whizzy, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Silent Night Arc [2]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crossdressing, M/M, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-23
Updated: 2006-12-23
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whizzy/pseuds/whizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: He couldn't understand it. It seemed like going through the motions of a pointless religion. Wasn't he himself considered an upstanding member of the church? Yet he killed, and thought that if God existed, he was a cruel one. Church was a place to go calm his nerves, worked into his schedule when he was allowed time. A social mission that he had to see to, to keep his moral standings. The holiday itself, however, he couldn't comprehend.Why were they celebrating?As a host, Klaus knew he had been abysmal. It wasn't that he couldn't pretend to share their joys and mirth -- he could -- but it never reached his mouth that entire evening, and it had certainly never touched his eyes. Not even for a flicker of a second.





	Holy Night

The halls of Schloss Eberbach were silent.

Those broad marbled and vaulted hallways were still decorated form the party on the twenty-third. The evening before, those halls had been filled with drinking and rejoicing, dancing and laughter. All around holiday cheer.

He couldn't understand it. It seemed like going through the motions of a pointless religion. Wasn't he himself considered an upstanding member of the church? Yet he killed, and thought that if God existed, he was a cruel one. Church was a place to go calm his nerves, worked into his schedule when he was allowed time. A social mission that he had to see to, to keep his moral standings. The holiday itself, however, he couldn't comprehend.

Why were they celebrating?

As a host, Klaus knew he had been abysmal. It wasn't that he couldn't pretend to share their joys and mirth -- he could -- but it never reached his mouth that entire evening, and it had certainly never touched his eyes. Not even for a flicker of a second.

The women adored him. Probably saw the same things in him that Eroica did.

/What is it? What is it, that makes it so he will not leave me alone?/ Klaus looked at himself in the mirror, a slow, long look, taking glimpses of his face from all angles. He had the hereditary high jaw-line, sharp cheekbones, drilling, hard eyes lined with thick, sepia-black lashes. Dorian had doted on his eyes, as had many women the previous night. Why? They were a flat shade of military green, a little too big to be in proportion to the rest of his face. And his lips...

When the woman in the flashy red dress had cornered him on the far side of the hall, and kissed him, they'd tingled. The only other time a kiss, however brief, had felt that way was when Eroica had snuck a peck or two during a mission...

He'd let her do it, let her kiss him not just once, but so many times that evening, after the first time. They'd danced, talked about nothing. And like a complete fool, he'd never gotten a name from her, nothing more than a nickname. She'd asked him to call her 'darling' and he had.

He had fallen completely in love with a woman he'd never met before in his life. After that first deathly daring kiss and vague introduction, they'd clicked almost immediately. She'd been beautiful, and wonderful, danced with a grace unparallel to any other woman in the room! Her eyes had called to him, her voice was something he could have listened to for hours...

And now he was regretting not having drilled her for information. She didn't even leave him a good-bye -- his butler had found him, for some inconsequential phone call, and when he'd turned around, she'd disappeared. Like in some tasteless fairytale, the only woman whose company he'd enjoyed had vanished. When word of it got back to his father, the man would herniate, he was sure. His son had blown yet another chance of marrying and carrying on the family name. Worse for Klaus, he'd felt like a human being for a few hours, felt every hope of a good, proper life swell -- because that woman, that brilliant, beautiful woman was the one! -- and then felt hope die when the woman disappeared.

Klaus was soon realizing that he would be marrying some bitch and keeping her as far away from him as humanly possible. Let the servants raise their children, and hope they ended up more socially functioning than their father. /Look at your life, Klaus. Living in the shadow of your own reputation. Unable to escape the lofty rumours.../ It was a train of thought best left alone, unthought and unnoted. He combed out wet hair quickly, blow-dried it, and combed again. They were familiar, soothing motions he knew well.

It was Christmas Eve again.

Five years before, Dorian had broken into the music room, pissed him off, and left him a book. He'd translated it at last into German the year before, written it all down, and had it printed privately and bound in a way that Dorian would appreciate -- red leather with embossed gilding.

He'd been disappointed, unexplainably so, when Dorian had failed to show up on any Christmas Eve.

It was the same routine, run over and over again every year of the five except for one, and that year they'd been on a mission together. He worked on one piece of music or another for two hours, then showered and ended up falling asleep in his chair in the library.

This year would be no different, and Dorian hadn't shown up while he was in the music room, so...

There was always a little hope now to his miserable holidays. And this holiday in particular held a special knife-edge of misery, after having been so close to his goals. Having reached and missed them.

Had Dorian the vaguest realisation of that hope, the questions he asked himself as he nestled comfortably into a chair in the darkened library would have been quite different. /What am I doing here? Wasn't last night a large enough risk? Do I want to live to see morning?/

Had he known, it would have been simply, /Why didn't I do this sooner?/

Klaus stopped first to get a fire-log, and retrieve the other things he wanted from his room -- then, mood heavy and more than ready to admit complete defeat in this insane routine, he pressed open the library door, careful to close it behind him. The walk to the fireplace was one made out of familiarity in the darkness, the chain screen pulled aside so that he could thrust in the kindling and use a match to set it ablaze.

And without even turning around, he asked, "How long have you been here?"

Like a fine brandy, Dorian's voice rose from the darkness, warm and golden, and producing the same effects on Klaus's stomach as if he'd just bolted a glass. "Long enough to become comfortable, and to worry a little that you wouldn't come..." There was wonder to that, Dorian guessing a little what it meant to be Klaus's hope. "I'm sorry that I missed our previous... appointments."

"I couldn't tell if you ever had the intention of coming back," Klaus murmured. His face was clearly in relief from the flickering light of the fire slowly coming to life. He'd asked that question, the same one, every year since that first time -- so it would give him a feeling of being one step ahead of the thief, if he truly was there. But he hadn't known Dorian was there until he's spoken in return. He had to, for a moment at least, look over his shoulder at Dorian's face and body, sunk back into the shadows and recesses of the large chair. Just to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. "I've a gift for you."

"I didn't..." The sudden revelation of Klaus's face, stern planes caressed by flickering light with a reverence Dorian was intensely jealous of, brought the thief's words to a breathy halt. So beautiful! More so than the previous night, for certain. But, the shadows loved Klaus, in the same way sunlight worshipped the thief, filtering through his thick curls and turning them to burnished gold.

Dorian swallowed, and tried again. "It was never my intention to put a burden of obligation on you. You needn't have bothered with a gift." Even worse that this year Dorian had made his appearance completely on whim, giftless and, he was only now realising, with a distinct unpreparedness of nerve.

"It is something I thought you would appreciate," Klaus murmured as he moved from the fireplace to the table he'd set the heavy gift on. "I've worked on it for a while." Klaus had stood by that table for an inordinate amount of time, and when Dorian heard a 'click', he felt as if he had to fear that the man was readying his gun.

Yet Klaus was gathering himself, idiotically so in his own mind, to just give the gift to Dorian at all. /Why am I bothering...? And why have I hoped for so long that he would come?/ Questions that he knew the answers to both, yet didn't want to admit to himself. But he knew, and it made his mood all the worse...

Soon after the click, Klaus walked to the chair Dorian had sunken into, and presented him with two things -- a filled glass of wine, and a book-sized gift as thick, if not more so, as a dictionary, wrapped in fairly plain blue paper.

One graceful hand accepted the glass, the other the book. For a gift probably four years old, the paper was pristine. Dorian wondered idly if Klaus didn't re-wrap it every year. Knowing enough of the man's habits, it wouldn't be surprising...

"Thank you..." Heavier than expected, he rested it on a thigh when his arm grew quickly tired of holding it, his eyes flicking up to where he guessed Klaus's face must be. Light at his back now, the German's features were more unreadable than usual.

And Klaus was just glad that he could watch Dorian's expression, as he stood there waiting for the other man to open his gift.

Realising he was expected to do so immediately, Dorian took a very undignified gulp of wine to settle himself, and set the glass aside. No careful knife slits from the thief; he made a show at least of attacking the present with typical Dorian enthusiasm.

It was the very least that Klaus had expected.

Within were two books. One, recently bound with that peculiar fresh smell that those sorts of books had. It was thin, and when Dorian flipped it open, it was a clear, concise translation of Luminous Red Benedict's rantings into German. The next looked time-worn, wrapped completely within a piece of leather, tattered binding threatening to loose its pages. Written in English, the thick journal contained the neat, precise script of Tyrian Persimmon.

The red Moroccan leather of the first volume was rubbed thoughtfully with a thumb as Dorian flicked through the pages, his less-than perfect German supplying him translations to the already familiar passages. The second book... That one he was afraid to even hold in lightly trembling hands. "Oh, Klaus! I can't possibly accept this!"

"I've made a translation for myself. It is only proper," Klaus told him, tone... strange and hard to place exactly. "Either book is incomplete without the other. They fill in holes for the other."

"Thank you," Dorian murmured, carefully settling both books aside. He felt he would never be able to say that enough. "Very much. I'll cherish it." If for reasons Klaus wouldn't approve of. Historical worth aside, Dorian would value the book because Klaus had given it to him, because Klaus had taken the effort and forethought to give him something that he'd spent time on, and that he himself treasured.

"You are welcome." Klaus knew it was awkward, so he stepped back, and then sat down in his own chair to think for a moment and sip a little of the wine.

"Part of the reason your ancestor hated mine so much is because they were lovers for a time. I hadn't realised it until I'd read both books."

"I... suspected." Thinly, with a strange hope. At least one of Dorian's family had, for however briefly, won the affections of an Eberbach. Hesitantly he added, "Would it be wrong to be jealous of a long-dead ancestor? If he was anything like his descendant, Tyrian must have been an amazing man..."

If his words wandered too close to innuendo, Dorian could be forgiven. They were also automatic, thoughts from the heart given voice.

Silence, while Klaus thought of how to next proceed without anger. "I don't know why anyone would pursue me," he murmured at last, "or what is worth such trouble as you go to."

Along with the usual facade and mannerisms, Dorian's sense of self-preservation seemed to have fled this evening. Either that, or he considered being painfully honest a novel approach to trying to win Klaus. "Was the expression on my face as I opened it worth the trouble you put into my gift, Klaus?"

"Yes." Said as if Klaus wasn't aware of the implications of him saying that until it was much too late to be taken back.

Dorian's wine glass was lifted, another few bolstering gulps tossed down the thief's throat. The ripple and play of muscle beneath the fine, pale skin of his throat as he swallowed was a mesmerising thing for the German to watch.

"Such a great gamble to make on a single word," the thief mused wryly. "Do you know, if your answer had been different, I would have pleaded tiredness and excused myself to leave. But you said 'yes'." Sapphire, bathed in firelight, flicked up to meet Klaus's unsettling gaze. "It's cruel, Darling, to give me hope you never expect to honour."

"What?" Oh, Klaus felt very confused suddenly -- what game was the thief playing?

"I think you understand more than you realise, exactly what is worth the 'trouble' I expend over you."

"I don't understand," Klaus denied quickly, finishing off his glass of wine in one impressive swallow.

"Then why bother with my gift? Why come to this room, on this night, expecting against the odds of four previous years to find me here?"

"Because I am alone and there is no one else who would bother." Snapped out words, but they stung Klaus to admit far more than they could ever hurt Dorian.

"Klaus, Darling..." Dorian was out of his seat before the urge registered, crossing swiftly to crouch beside the Major. "There are many more who would bother, were they as brave -- or foolish -- as I. Last night, at the party... You were surrounded by friends and well-wishers, though you refused to let yourself be included in their cheer."

How did Dorian...?

"You were there." Not even a question, but a statement edged with a strange mixture of hysteria and anger. Dorian was there, and he had to have been disguised, else Klaus would have recognised him -- how could one not recognise that hair, unless it was re-styled or tucked under a wig...?

That was when Klaus noticed. Noticed that Dorian's hair was straighter than it usually was. That pieces to the front fell to the fore of Dorian's face a little more, ringlets that looked as if they had been separated from the rest of his hair. Separated and left to fall as if Dorian had worn the rest of his hair up, with those few sparkling strands left down...

"Mein Gott!"

Dorian would never have the chance again, would probably be carted from the room bloodied and bruised if he managed to escape with his life intact. While Klaus was still stunned he rose, placing palms on the man's shoulders and, leaning, lips on lips.

The kiss was none of the remembered playfulness from the night before, and twice the tenderness. Of course it would be good -- Klaus had already tasted the thief's skill -- but it far exceeded expectation, to the point that Klaus could almost believe Dorian loved him. No kiss that overwhelming was given without full co-operation of the heart.

Just as quickly as begun it was ended, Dorian pulling back minutely to murmur, "Red always has been my colour..."

"I'm going to..." No, he wasn't, and all parts of him agreed that he wasn't going to kill the thief. He couldn't, wouldn't think of it. Silence returned in Klaus's new battery of shock, the lingering taste and feel of tingling lips, marked by Dorian's mouth. He should have at least hit the thief, for appearances' sake, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Tightly raging fury stayed within him, beating to get out but unable to. He was angry at himself, the way he'd lived his life, for denying so much of himself for so long. Klaus needed time to think about it, to process everything that was still happening... He needed to hide in something, something or somewhere safe to do so. So when he next spoke to Dorian, it was in an exhausted sounding tone, "Sit down..."

More frightening by far than the expected burst of anger. Dorian sat immediately, the sort of obedience Klaus had never been able to wring from him before by threat or curse.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say, though he managed to encompass so many 'sorrys' specific with that blanketing whole. /I needed to know./

And now, at long last, he knew.

He watched from the floor as Klaus refilled his wine-glass with shaking hands, and took a sip, barely able to keep the glass steady. Klaus's hands never shook -- he was Iron Klaus, the infamous NATO agent, the Major... but in this moment, in the silence, he was a confused and stressed man, trying to sort through a life that now made no sense. Nothing made sense. It was as if Dorian had ripped stability out from under him, before he spun the world around.

He'd savoured kissing that woman. That woman who was Eroica, the fucking faggot thief who'd done so much wrong, the Earl of Red Gloria, Dorian... He'd been kissed by Dorian and found that it had the same effects as kissing and being kissed by the fake female. Was that why he'd been drawn to her, and spent the night in her company? Because she had all the aspects and exuberance of Dorian, without the social stigmata associated with being so with another man?

Finally, he just closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the man sitting so patiently at his feet, and leaned back in his chair.

Klaus didn't seem to know where to begin, so Dorian blazed a trail for him to follow into conversation. "If it makes any difference, you're not a 'fag' like I am. Last night, way you were attentive and polite, gracious, relaxed and laughing... Everything I'd ever wanted you to be with me, only it *wasn't* me. It was some hussy tart you'd known for all of a few hours."

Choking to a halt, Dorian relaxed and fisted his hands in his lap. A tang of disappointment -- bitter, almost like blood -- skittered across his tongue. It rankled, because hurting was the alternative and he couldn't bear to cry in front of Klaus...

"I came here tonight intending to give you up. I don't know what went wrong, but after that kiss I want you so badly that I can't- I... am deeply sorry for the deception, Klaus. I should probably go."

The silence was so thick that it surely felt like a dismissal to Dorian.

And again, Klaus broke it before Dorian had a chance to act on that feeling. His voice was soft and barely audible, shaking a little as he spoke, still not looking at Dorian, "It was you." Almost as if his mind couldn't break past that realisation, caught onto and unable to let go of that fact. "I... have never enjoyed the company of... any woman so much in my life... Dorian. When I came back from the call and you were gone, I thought... that my one chance at a possibly happy life was gone. Of a normal life. But it was you. *You*." His chest felt like there was a rock sitting against his heart, in his throat threatened to well up things that should never exist, let alone be released. "I thought... for a few brief hours that I could be normal, that I could do what society wants me to. But... I can't." Those last two words crept from his mouth, softer yet and nearly breaking as he pushed violently shaking fingers back through his bangs and opened his eyes again.

The mask was completely and utterly gone when Klaus looked at him again, expression trembling between a thousand different fears and hopes.

"I'm sorry," the blond bit out again, tearing his eyes off Klaus. Staring at the man, with the crumbled remnants of his defences scattered at his feet, felt indecent and deeply intrusive. "I don't know how many more times I can say it, but if I wasted breath on no other words but those for the rest of my life, it would not be enough."

And it probably never would be enough, from the way Klaus was looking at him. "I think I felt love for the first time in my life... and it was with someone who didn't really exist. How fake were you last night, Dorian? Did you enjoy doing that to me?"

Turning ashen, Dorian pulled his head into his arms, making his body into a tight ball, from which muffled sounds of misery could be heard. "God damn you! I d-didn't think it was possible to feel any worse..." The guilt was bad, enough to plunge Dorian's spirits into despair; it was the ballast around his neck, the concrete on his feet. He really ought to jump in a river and just let himself drown...

But talk of love on top of that was simply sadistic. To let Dorian know how close he'd come to his heart's desire, only to fail on a technicality.

"Was the entire thing a lie, Dorian? Just tell me that much! Was the entire night, your good company, just a lie for your own *fucking* amusement?!" Klaus's voice was a low roar of misery, sitting forward in his chair at last. "I think I've fallen in love with you -- was that entire night a farce?!"

Had Dorian been close enough, he knew Klaus would have hit him. He recognised the tone of impending violence. As it was, the accusations struck like blows, causing the thief to flinch, the rhythm of his trembling shoulders disrupted. And the truth was a poor defence indeed when it was almost certain to be disbelieved. "I n-needed to know, whether it was me or m-my gender you objected to. It wouldn't have been a fair test, if I hadn't been myself..."

Oh God.

Klaus sat back again, one large hand crumpled over his eyes, teeth clenched to ward off his own hysteria and tears. he just concentrated on breathing, and calming himself, to keep from strangling Dorian right then and there. If they'd been in the music room, he would've smashed that beautiful antique, so he was glad to be where they were -- in a room that left him without outlet. "Gott..." He'd done it -- fallen in love with Dorian, woman or not. Kisses were still the same, that voice...

How could he have been such an idiot?

"I... I'm leaving." While he was still hale and able to, even though his limbs were trembling so hard he didn't dare attempt standing. Very well -- he would crawl for the door. "I found my way in; I can find my way back. You won't have to see me again. There are other thieves, competent, who don't come with any messy emotional attachments. I'll provide you with names..."

"Don't dare leave."

Klaus's own voice startled him as badly as it startled Dorian, but he had to forge forward before it was too late... before every tiny hope crumbled. "I.... waited every year like this because I... I-I..." Klaus fell silent for a moment to pull together his breaking voice. "Knew that you are... a person I can.... trust. You're... indiscreet, but I can't help..."

Dorian hadn't actually begun his trek to the door when Klaus's demand startled him into immobility. He'd raised on his heels in preparation, but had made it no further. And now he found he'd lost the ability to leave, at least past hearing Klaus out. With his back turned he spoke; that Klaus couldn't see his anguished expression lent him a illusion of calm. "I trust you too. It's purely professional, has nothing to do with the fact that I love you. Don't confuse the two."

"I don't mean... I know it's separate, only..." Silence again, a tight and unhappy thing as Klaus brought his hand over his mouth to muffle something. But after that, Dorian could here a distinct, "Fuck."

It was enough, God help him and a pox on his wretched curiosity, to make Dorian crawl about and look at Klaus once more. He couldn't see Klaus's face, since the German had drawn a leg up to his chest, face still mostly hidden by his hand. If it had been anyone else, Dorian would have suspected them of trying to stifle tears. Had it been anyone else, one of his little family of thieves, or a member of Klaus's alphabet -- whom he mostly got on well with -- or a stranger on the street even looking as miserable as the Major did now, Dorian would have been at their side, patting shoulder and back and offering kind words. But this was Klaus, and Klaus was unpredictable, and he was as likely to hit as he was to be grateful for whatever comfort Dorian might attempt.

Dorian was, after all, the source of his misery.

So Klaus kept trying to pull himself back together, and like the inhuman tank he was rumoured to be, managed to do with only one tear lost, quickly smudged away.

"What... what now?"

"I don't know. You've stomped on my plan to leave -- I feel too dumb currently to think up another."

"Then don't leave."

It was unnerving to look up at Klaus, and find him so composed when Dorian knew he must look a fright, with mussed hair and eyes doubtless red from a brief contemplation tears. He bit his lip, voice unsteady. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I guess so," Klaus said tightly, trying to not meet Dorian's gaze. "Get up off the floor. I... don't like having anyone at my feet."

"You come down here," Dorian countered sullenly, half on principle against being ordered around. "The other chair is too far. I don't feel like yelling at you across the library."

The Major was in no mood to argue; he did slip down to the floor, with his back against the seat now, one leg tucked stiffly beneath him. "I don't know what to think."

"Then don't. It's not fair that your brain should work when mine shut down some time ago." He distinctly remembered when it had, the moment his tongue had teased apart Klaus's lips and slipped gently past to explore. Everything since had been instinct.

One hand scrubbed lightly against an over-bright sapphire eye, but it was a useless cause.

"Let's be quiet for a while," Klaus suggested.

Dorian felt the opposite, dreading to review in thought all the missteps he'd made this night. It was far safer to curl up in a huddle, his head pillowed on an arm, a hand outstretched before him tracing the rug's whorling floral pattern.

A sigh cut the silence, and Klaus had taken some time to get up, get Dorian's wine glass, and refill both glasses, nudging Dorian's hand gently with the stem. "'s okay?"

"Only if you say it is." Because truly, Klaus was the one who was shocked, and angry, and Dorian as catalyst was only along for the ride. He wearily gripped the glass in a hand that trembled still; he'd probably suffer aftershocks for days. "I'm sorry." Because he felt he hadn't repeated that penance near enough yet.

"I'm not cut out for people," Klaus sighed in reply, sitting back again, still on the floor, to sip his own glass of wine. Just like Dorian's, his own hands were shaking, but a few moments of non-conversation talking would help, before he went back to their... problem.

What that was supposed to explain, Dorian wasn't sure. It didn't matter anyway; Klaus was likely calming himself so his aim would be true when he finally got around to pulling his gun. The blond drew a matching sigh and, reckless, drained his glass in one go.

Klaus was drinking his languidly, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, pulling one free. "Do you want a smoke?"

A sharp nod. Even if he'd been offered a cigar Dorian would have accepted, and he loathed the stench of the things.

It was one of Klaus's cigarettes, though, and when he smoked it, he'd be reminded of the kiss again. Because that's what Klaus tasted like -- tobacco, coffee and something pleasant and implacable. Probably gun-powder. Klaus lit it while holding it in his hand, pocketed the lighter, and then leaned close to fit it between Dorian's lips. So, wonderful things that were nothing if not a comfort to feel... He surprised himself when he didn't press a cigarette there, but his own mouth, an amateur kiss.

Dorian, quickly recovering from a mild shock of his own, carried the kiss after Klaus's simple experimentation had taken it as far as it could. He broke their mouths apart gently before succumbing to the danger of deepening the kiss, savouring tendrils of the smoky breath Klaus had shared with him.

Another shift and, wordlessly, Klaus moved to sit beside Dorian instead of across from him. Then he handed the Briton the cigarette. "That's nice," he breathed huskily.

It was fitted to his lips and nursed on desperately, a poor substitute for Klaus's exciting flavour. When he replied, it was with smoke-hazed words. "Don't toy with me, Darling. It isn't nice, and I care for you too much to protect myself from being hurt by you."

"I'm not toying with you. Not half as much as you toyed with me last night," Klaus growled quietly, resting his arm on one up-drawn knee. "It was cruel to make me think I was normal."

"Not toying. I was desperate." He took another long drag on the cigarette, turning the tip intensely orange. "And I thank you for the insinuation that there's something wrong with me."

"'s wrong with me, too," Klaus sighed unhappily, drawing up his other knee to his chest in a pose that Dorian had seen time and time again as a frustrated sort of protection for Klaus.

"Idiot." It felt good to turn that growled word back on Klaus, and he could see how it could and probably had become something of a pet-name. "The only thing wrong with me is unrequited love, and the only thing wrong with you is that damned-stiff morality you cling to. You, an atheist."

"You're the idiot. I go to church. I don't want to go to hell for something that... that I can do without." It had probably been the wrong avenue for Dorian to lead Klaus down, because it was the clear road to repression, which Klaus had, before, at least been trying to lead.

Dorian glanced uneasily around and, finding no ashtray within easy reach, flicked ash into a cupped hand. Better than ruining that gorgeous rug... "No, you are. I'm already going to hell for my thieving, if nothing else, and you for your killing. But I'm an atheist too, don't forget. You Catholics have it easy. All you have to do is make a death-bed confession, and all is forgiven."

"'s never made sense to me," Klaus said in a heavy sigh, "We... we're both good men, but we've got the same fate as the bad guys."

"I make my own fate."

"Enjoy it?" Klaus asked him truthfully. "You know there are times things haven't gone your way."

"If I had it to do again, I wouldn't change a thing," Dorian told him solemnly. In a way, trust in himself and his abilities bordered on spiritual for the thief. "I'm a firm believer of things turning out for the best, regardless of the way I intended them to go."

"Is this turning out for the best?"

"You haven't hit me yet. And still we managed for neither of us be alone tonight."

Not yet for either of those things.

"How about we move the chairs closer and get off the floor."

The monstrous chairs were eyed dubiously. "Drag those things? On carpet? In the words of a very stubborn, hard-headed German acquaintance of mine, 'Nein.' I'd rather take the couch."

"Couch, then." Klaus got to his feet almost in a jolt, just glad to not be sitting on the floor. He picked up his wine-glass, too.

Dorian's was recovered and used most inappropriately as an ash tray. He set the abused stemware on a side table before heading for the couch. Somewhere he'd lost his shoes as well, and didn't hesitate to tuck stockinged feet beneath him as he curled up on one end, considerate for Klaus's damned sense of propriety in giving the man plenty of room.

But keeping that distance seemed to be wearing on Klaus more than Dorian, for once. He looked so tired... "Dorian..."

"What?" the thief prompted gently, blinking in pleasure at the use of his name.

"I meant it when I... Fuck, I can't remember saying it. You're the same person, woman or man."

An unexpected trickle of laughter from the blond, tremulous but defiant. "Man, Darling -- definitely. That cross-dressing stuff I truthfully don't like."

"Good."

"Why good?" Quizzical. Why should Klaus even care?

"It's tasteless and undignified. You called yourself a hussy," Klaus told him, finishing off the last of his wine, before tossing the glass carelessly at the fire.

It shattered on the screen with a tremendous clamour. Dorian hoped that it had eased a little Klaus's obvious need to smash things, because there wasn't much left breakable in the room save himself. Thinking that made it difficult to gather nonchalance as he answered, "That's because I was. A shameless flirt, and you ate it up. If it hadn't been me, I would have been insanely jealous, you know."

"I've never acted that way with a woman before." The smashed glass seemed to have done him at least a little good, as he sat back on the couch.

"Then what made you last night?" If he asked enough questions, surely it wasn't too much to expect that he might one day understand Klaus?

"Something... about 'her' seemed right," Klaus murmured after a moment of quiet. "I guess it was that she wasn't a she and that she was you."

"Yet I'm still 'wrong'." Leaning on the sofa's arm, Dorian tucked his chin into a hand, sighing deeply. "You can't imagine how frustrating I find this situation."

"When tonight have I said you were 'wrong'?"

Dorian scowled at him. "Earlier, you- Never mind. If I'm not wrong for you, then I must be right -- which is only what I've been trying to tell you for years -- and if I'm right, I can't understand why you're still way over there instead of close, with me snug in your arms."

Klaus swallowed, then said, "Then get over here."

An owlish blink. Then Dorian accomplished the feat with admirable speed. He didn't so much crawl into Klaus's arms as launch himself, feeling for only the second time the man's marvellous warmth and solidity as he buried his face in the front of Klaus's shirt.

No surprised noises, none of the expected shock -- Klaus just brought his arms around Dorian's form, shoulders and side, holding him. Without complaint, just taking in what Dorian felt like. "Thank you for coming this year."

Words were muffled, breath a warmth threading through the weave of Klaus's shirt. "It's my pleasure. Really Klaus, I- Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Klaus echoed in turn, closing his eyes as he turned his head to kiss Dorian's temple. "I needed you to come this year."

"I needed to come." The kiss was heavenly, more tender than anything he'd gotten the night before.

"If you didn't come this year, I was going to give up entirely..."

"But I did..."

"Yes.... you did."

And Klaus sounded happy with that thought, that entire idea. Nestled so close against his chest, Dorian could feel the exhaled breath as it left the major with those words. "You're not leaving."

"No, I'm not." Dorian's heart did a manic jig in his chest. "Don't you know, Darling? I'm like a boomerang -- absolutely impossible to get rid of!" A hiccuped laugh, barely controlled.

"I've learned," Klaus agreed truthfully, sighing. "'m very confused right now. You'll have to help me."

"I may have blundered a few missions, but I've never let you down when you really needed me," Dorian reminded gently.

"Blundered a lot of missions," Klaus corrected automatically. Still, his tone was soft, tired and frustrated. "I... really need you to help me."

There was no better way to prove his dedication to the cause than to pull back minutely and meet Klaus's eyes, his own turned solemn. "Anything, Darling. You only have to tell me what you need."

"Show me what it's like to be with someone you love."

"Oh, Klaus..." Dorian whispered, distinctly fearful. "I have as little experience in that as you. There have been lovers, but no one-" He shook his head, and reburied his face against Klaus's neck. "So far, it's been... peaceful."

The chances that Klaus would ever say 'I love you' were slim, but there was a great chance he would say it other ways, as in the request he'd just made. "I'm tired of waiting, and I'm sure you are. I'd make the first move, only I don't know what it would be." And that was truth, that he didn't know, and that he was scared if they didn't cement this somehow, he might try to unsettle it come morning.

He *was* tired of waiting, desperately weary, and Klaus's throat was so close to his lips... It wasn't a temptation if he hadn't need to resist, and he'd been given permission. Hell, asked even! A subtle shift, which somehow with a minimum of movement created a whole new world of sensation with Dorian's body pressed just that much closer. His mouth found Klaus's pulse immediately, a flutter beneath flushed, sweet skin.

"Uhhhh..." Klaus's moan, quiet and breathed out, was just as sweet. His own hands, quietly eager yet still unknowing, knotted into fists against Dorian's back, before he gathered himself enough to try to take off Dorian's shirt while still keeping the man tightly close.

With Dorian's help that was easily accomplished. A shift of his hips more than compensated for any lost contact while Klaus's fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. The German's was unfastened and pushed off his shoulders, as soon as Dorian was certain he was allowed.

In the quiet library, there wasn't a single part of Klaus protesting anymore. "Need you," he was told in drawled English as shirt buttons were mastered and Dorian's shirt was allowed to slink off, revealing the pure expanse of Dorian's chest to him, all smooth skin and beautiful, sharp lines. But it still wasn't enough, not enough to touch or appreciate; his hands moved to Dorian's pants now, still unsure, but wanting. "Please... anything you want..."

A portion of Dorian's mind separated itself and began to scream about the improbability of the proceedings and possible dire consequences. It was slapped out of its hysteria and told to shut up, however, and that was the last of Dorian's protesting.

"I want... " Lips parted from throat because Dorian needed them for talking. "Oh, Klaus. Not what you think -- but I promise it will be good. Better than good." Better than the hands already busy devouring the feel of Klaus's muscled chest beneath them, through the frustrating modesty of a thin undershirt. Before he knew, his mouth was back at work, subduing Klaus's with a brutality he'd not thought himself capable of.

It wasn't that Klaus was giving up easily -- he had as much fight in him about this as he had in him about everything. Eager, careful kisses nearly stopped Klaus's hands where they rested. Just inside pants he'd unzipped, resting over Dorian's hips, those shaking fingers stilled as they slide back a little, rubbing his fingers over hard muscle. "Dorian, ohhh, Gott!" An exclamation half of pleasure, half of shock as if it was finally setting in what he was doing. He was touching Dorian -- touching Dorian and enjoying it, letting Dorian touch him... Half of him was screaming hysterically at him to stop and to shove Dorian away, the other half was hysterically shouting to not *dare* ever let Dorian go.

Klaus just bit his lip and shuddered.

Dorian instinctively knew to kiss him harder then, deep and thoroughly, until his lips felt raw, near numbness, and Klaus's shuddering had subsided. Klaus's hands were tucked in the sides of his pants, and his were everywhere at once, and it wasn't nearly enough... The realisation of which led Dorian to spare a moment's gratitude that whatever unnamed ancestor of Klaus's had decorated the library had possessed a taste for grandness of scale, for the couch would comfortably fit both men stretched to their fullest. Dorian had plans to make full use of that marvellous couch...

That kiss -- and Klaus was now sure that he could never get enough of the drug that was Dorian's lips -- gave him enough courage to move at last. Dorian felt his pants pried down, Klaus's hands gripping his hips for a moment. He'd done that the night before, but that had been without the knowledge that between his hands was a cock, tenting Dorian's tasteful and expensive underwear.

For the time being, those hands thankfully didn't stray from lean hips. It was more awkward than Dorian could have imagined to have Klaus strip him so, with typical military efficiency, being blatant in his avoiding notice of the swell in Dorian's underpants. It wasn't the first time an erection had caused the thief trouble in the Major's presence -- he wore tight pants around Klaus for more reasons than that they clung to his clung to his hips and accentuated the clean lines of his legs -- but it was the most embarrassing to date.

When had he become modest about such things?

Klaus's hands stroked and held there for a moment, and then slid back to cup Dorian's buttocks, exploring nervously but enjoying the touch. "Never done this," Klaus mumbled softly, still keeping Dorian close.

"You're in good hands, Darling," Dorian assured him softly. Actually, he himself was at the moment -- literally -- which he found ironically pleasing. "I'm gentle, and skilled, and I won't let you make a misstep."

"'u won't?" Klaus's voice was hazy as he stroked and cupped again, drawing pleasure from the feel of Dorian's body against his. No one else had ever been such a comfort to touch, and now, without Dorian's grand-standing to embarrass him...

There was only love left, and a trust so powerful that even to one accustomed to bearing the trust and expectations of others, it was unsettling. Soft kisses fell on Klaus's forehead and cheeks, jaw, and finally mouth. "I won't -- I promise."

The German could only nod minutely, not wanting to lose the stark, strange feeling of Dorian's kisses. "Help... help me undress." It was a decision five long years in the coming, and even if he'd admitted it to Dorian when it had first struck him for a moment in the music room, it would have taken five years for the thief to hear those words.

If this was the true Dorian, it was someone Klaus had never seen before, save for glances snatched the previous night, as if through a gauzy veil. None of the Earl's expected fretting was there, reminding Klaus of how long he'd chased and how patiently. Eroica's gloating was absent as well, with the biggest prize of all coming wilfully to his call. Somehow, between the two, Klaus had discovered the real Dorian, a man so unlike the others he almost deserved a name of his own.

But that would have been one more name to add to Dorian's roster of masks, and that made Klaus feel uncomfortable, thinking that there were so many layers to cut through to reach the man he was with.

His courage wavered for a moment as his undershirt was pulled up over his head, and again most of the nerves in his body screamed at him to shove Dorian away. Such a battle to fight with himself, mind and heart pitted against reflexes and years of morals drilled in him. If Dorian were a woman, he should do nothing with her until they were married. A man... was so far out of the question!!

The undershirt did come off, though, and he took it from Dorian's hands to toss it across the room so temptation couldn't make him put it back on. Firelight was gleaming off of Dorian's bared body, all gilded, cat-like beauty.

Crouching above, as hands stroked the scarred surface of Klaus's chest, the golden man somehow managed not to look predatory. Perhaps it was the care in which he undertook Klaus's request, wonder on his face and in his touch, as if the looking and touching were something he did for Klaus alone, and not to please himself.

It was perhaps too shocking and new, but the thought and the action made it impossible for Klaus to do anything more than just feel, reacting with a quiet restraint that Dorian had always assumed he'd have. Shivers and low gasps that were definitely of pleasure, stopped breaths every time a lingering caress startled him because it felt new. Klaus, for all his strength of will and solidarity for mission, felt like a piece of crystal near shattering under Dorian's hands. If he'd been there for a mission, he would have managed whatever was required of him, but it wasn't The Major or Iron Klaus beneath Dorian on the sofa.

It was Klaus, without rank or family title behind him; Klaus, ignoring his up bringing; and Klaus, shivering as if chilled as he slid warm hands beneath Dorian's underwear and started to pull it down.

Dorian was accustomed to handling the Major with care; and if he was fragile this night, instead of merely explosive, it changed the thief's approach little. He was still passive while goading, patient above all. "Wait, Darling..." Slight but gentle disapproval, and Dorian's hands reluctantly left their exploration of Klaus's chest to pull the German's hands from his underwear.

It was like coming up for air after having been under the water for too long -- a shock. "Why...?"

"No missteps, remember?" Sapphire eyes, gilded in firelight and sympathetic, were gentle.

"Oh." That was a misstep? Something that was wrong to do...? He'd thought it would be something Dorian wanted! Still, he moved his hands, under Dorian's guidance, back to the thief sides and uttered with no little shame in his voice, "Sorry."

It didn't last long though, Dorian going on quickly to explain, "I'm going to get up first. I've never been particularly graceful with my underwear tangled around my knees. You do not want me lying atop you like a stranded fish, believe me." A slow smile spread on his lips, his hands guiding Klaus's again to the waistband as he slid from the sofa.

Which meant Klaus had to sit up more, properly, and found himself looking up the length of Dorian's golden body. /Stay calm. Calm..../ He hooked his thumbs into the waist-band, fingers splayed over Dorian's rump as he pulled the pair down slowly, watching each millimetre of skin revealed.

Such intensity! Dorian had seen Klaus's incredible concentration at work during missions, but he'd never been fully its recipient before! More than the agonising touch, that attention made the revealed skin burn, and his breaths come quick and stuttered. "Yes, like that... See how much better when you can see as well as feel?"

The waist-band caught on Dorian's well defined hardness, and Klaus just kept watching as he didn't stop that slow slide. When the mild fight between hardness and the waist-band was over, Dorian's cock sprang free, and Klaus didn't startle. Then again, men in shock didn't startle, either. Instead, he just looked as he pulled Dorian's underwear all the way down. He was staring at another man's cock. There was another man's penis right in front of his eyes, bobbing a little, tip glistening wetly in the firelight...

Klaus shifted, using one hand to pull Dorian's underwear down past his knees, the other going around the man's waist to pull him closer. The shifting got him just where he wanted to be, pressing his cheek against Dorian's flank, breathing in a scent that wasn't shampoo or cologne. It was pure Dorian, warm and a little musky, untainted by the scents of Eroica.

Dorian had bedded enough virgins over the years to recognise that Klaus's reaction was odd. Beyond that -- good, bad or otherwise he couldn't know. Stern, repressed German intelligence officers were well out of his area of expertise.

He supposed it was a good sign though that he hadn't yet been hit.

Fingers threaded through Klaus's hair, acquainting themselves with the delightful cool wash. It was something he knew immediately he'd never tire of, no more than he could tire of the tease of hot breath on his side. "Klaus, Darling..." He hoped the tremor evident in his voice didn't cause the man to loose confidence in him. "Are you... still okay with this?"

Klaus dragged his other hand up to Dorian's other hip, almost as if holding himself steady,. Dorian could feel a heavy sigh against his skin, and then Klaus murmured in a softly shaking tone, "N... nein. I want to, but 's so..."

Held or not, Dorian exhibited a thief's knack for wriggling, and managed to slip down to his knees, not losing the contact with Klaus. "So...?" He was close enough to nip a light kiss, his fingers brushing and straightening threads of bangs on Klaus's forehead. "New? Strange? Are you afraid?"

"Ja." All of them, every last one of them, and more as he wrapped his arms around Dorian's shoulders now, finding equally strange the feeling of skin against bare skin, a feeling Dorian had been acquainted with since he was a just barely a teenager.

"Shall I tell you of my first time?" Dorian wondered if talking helped, and was hopeful enough to risk finding out. As tense as Klaus was now, he didn't dare set about undressing him further, invited to or not!

Willingly the thief fell more into Klaus's arms, trying as best he could to keep a very insistent erection from prodding the man in the thigh. Worse than poor manners, as frightened as Klaus was it would have been disastrous for his chances for the evening.

A lull, while Dorian decided where to begin. When he did, his tone, still gentle, was tinged with something almost like regret. "I haven't ever told you how I became a thief, because it's part of this story as well... I was thirteen."

"Thirteen?" Klaus repeated softly, questioning and incredulous -- that was so very young!! Stealing and sex...? At that age, he was learning to play soccer and beating up kids in the potato field at school.

"I was still very much a child," Dorian explained, daring to lift his hands to rest at the small of Klaus's back. "He was an old man, a friend of my father's. We made a bargain of sorts. There was a painting he owned that I admired, and I just happened to have something of value he wanted in return..." When the hands weren't objected to they began to stray, travelling in small relaxed circles over Klaus's bared back.

It was without question one of the best things he'd felt in his life, keeping him calm in the face of a story that was clearly abuse of a minor. He was learning so very much about Dorian that quiet night...

"You... slept with him in return for a painting? Is... the sick fuck still alive?" Because if he wasn't, well, there were always things that an intelligence officer could drudge up that could get an arrest...

"No." And even if he were, Klaus knew Dorian would have lied and said the same. "I didn't love him; I didn't hate him. It was like a... a transaction." Hands on Klaus's back clutched the other man closer for a moment, unintentionally, and Klaus could guess a little of what it was costing the thief to share this episode of his life.

"Do you know, I wouldn't have minded to this day, if he hadn't cheated me. The painting he gave me was a forgery. It was to get what rightfully was mine that I first tried to steal."

Klaus just kept Dorian close; his touch was a comfort, for never in Dorian's life had he been just held, completely without a sexual threat, by another man. Klaus meant, was trying to comfort in that moment. "Tried? You meant you didn't get it?"

A slip of laughter from Dorian, steeped in self-mockery. "You may have always been Iron, Darling, but I wasn't always a good thief. But I'd already learned I wasn't good either at getting what I wanted through seduction..."

"So you tried to steal it and didn't get it." Klaus wasn't going to comment on Dorian's light little barb -- it was hard to disagree or snap back when he was right.

"Eventually I did, a long time later." Slowly Dorian was easing himself out of reminiscence, his hands becoming aware again of the flesh and muscle they smoothed over. "That painting was my first love, and you are only my second, and I knew I would get you too in the end..."

"How...? You... barely know anything about me." And that fact was just striking him, considering how little he knew about Dorian. Habits and his current lifestyle? Yes. But his past, his history...?

"It doesn't matter. I don't need to know anything more than what your hands have already told me, and your lips on mine... Do you know, Klaus -- no one has ever undressed me before with the care you took. It makes me wish that my first time was with you, and that we could meet this newness together..."

And what would that do? If they'd both been virgins... Ah, but at least Dorian wouldn't have had to suffer an uncaring touch. "You're too... special to treat any differently in this matter."

Steadied hands took Klaus's face between them, locking his gaze to Dorian's. "If I didn't love you already, I could just for saying that. Klaus, will you let me... finish undressing you? Tonight is special; I know just how to celebrate that."

"I..." He wanted to ask what Dorian's plan was, but was too frightened to ask -- if the answer was something horrible... /I trust him. There's no one else I could trust this much./ "Yes. Please, finish."

If Klaus had undressed him with exquisite attention, Dorian undressed Klaus with reverence. His eyes remained with the German's, wooing them, while hands found from experience the fastening of Klaus's pants. He went slowly to savour, and of necessity, watching intently for the smallest sign of unease on his partner's part.

There were small flickers, but there was a comfort of sorts to Klaus's sense of propriety in that Dorian wasn't looking at what he was doing. No, his eyes were firmly on Klaus's face, gaze locked with gaze, as Klaus lifted his hips to help his trousers slide off. He had to break the gaze himself, toeing off his shoes in a quick moment, socks with them.

Klaus just wore too many layers.

Dorian was torn between the inconvenience of dealing with all those layers -- and wondering if he couldn't convince Klaus to wear less -- and delighting in the German's stiff propriety. More layers did mean more fun in ridding Klaus of them... "Good, Darling. Very good..."

Underpants came next, Dorian expertly lifting the waist over Klaus's half erect member. /Don't look,/ he reminded himself. /You'll only frighten him when you can't tear your eyes away./

Klaus relaxed a notch once they were gone and Dorian's eyes hadn't strayed. He shifted the last bit needed on his own, leaving trousers and underwear in a pile beside the sofa. "What now...?" His voice sounded dry suddenly, as if he couldn't gather the energy for a more energetic question.

/This will work!/ Klaus was naked, and Dorian was, and still no outburst. Klaus was even looking to him with a lost sort of expectation that made Dorian's heart seize in sympathy. "You're going back to the sofa, Darling. That's right -- make yourself comfortable. And I am going join you, and to do something very, very nice for you which will hopefully feel much better than anything you've ever felt before."

If he didn't just faint dead-away in the meantime! Klaus submitted, though, laying back on the sofa, very, very aware that it made him vulnerable. Spread out for Dorian to stare at, and for some strange reason, that thought made his cock twitch to life a little more. "What.... 're you going to do?"

Stare at Klaus for a while, obviously -- transfixed by the sight before him. Lightly parted lips took in a quiet breath, and it was a long time before that breath was released. "My God, but you're beautiful..."

It didn't help Klaus's nervousness to be told that; he flushed in the firelight, distinctly.

Eye-contact again, Dorian's sapphire apologetic as he moved to the couch. "I don't mean to embarrass you. It's only truth though, and some day you'll get used to me saying it."

"' don't think so," Klaus sighed, forcing himself to relax again. They were on even par, he had to remind himself. Both nude, and he could easily overpower Dorian, if it ever came to that.

"Allow me to be right every once in a while?" The thief requested, an admirable attempt to lighten the seriousness of the situation. He joined Klaus on the couch, close but not overly so, resting a hand on the point of the man's bare hip.

Klaus was near hyperventilating, Dorian could tell. "'ll.... let you be right when you are."

"Who says I'm not now...?" He kissed Klaus, kissing one of the better remedies for a hyperventilating virgin that Dorian knew. The right sort of kissing meant passing the same lung-full of breath back and forth for several moments, until breathing became more important than the tangle and melding of tongues.

It wasn't that one had to break a kiss to breath -- but for Klaus, so unsettled by it all, it was almost a necessity. He broke the kiss at last, trying to re-find his breath, but more intent on that than the fact that he was laying naked beside another man.

That was just as Dorian had hoped as his hand began to move lightly on Klaus's hip. Up a few inches, to cup beneath the edge of the man's ribs. Down twice as far, skimming the iron of one muscled thigh. Back again, the whole trip accomplished over a path of perfect skin. Not soft, not rough, it was as if someone had draped the hard lines of a tank in velvet, textured and coating an unbelievable amount of power.

Verdant eyes were softening from self-induced shock, and Klaus looked at Dorian with a serious but hazed gaze, as if to reiterate his trust in the man. His own hands were on Dorian's lower back, stroking there -- a little up, a little down, but never straying past the rise of Dorian's bottom.

They might have stayed so the entire evening, had Dorian's courage failed him. It was that, and want for Klaus, and to please him, that guided Dorian's hand inward, sweeps drawing nearer and nearer the German's groin.

When that hand finally connected with Klaus's groin, the German beneath him all but yelped, his own hands stilling in their touching. It was horrible in the way that touch alone sometimes was for Klaus, never mind the pleasure it shot through his veins, so very foreign!

Too late now to do anything but move forward, as Dorian knew if he botched this chance he'd never be allowed another. Ignoring his partner's shock, he let his hand remain there, cupping and lightly kneading. With his voice he wove a blanket of soothing words, nonsense murmurs to wrap Klaus in and keep him warm and comforted... "Not so bad, is it?"

"'s strange," Klaus gasped, "'n wrong. I.... I shouldn't..." Let Dorian go on, but he wanted the blonde to! His arms, tight around Dorian's body, certainly weren't sending a 'go away' message.

"It's too late, Klaus. You've committed yourself -- I won't let you run away from this." More stern and sharp than Dorian usually was in overcoming that initial protest inexperienced partners sometimes gave. But Klaus would respond better to the insinuation that he was giving up than all the sweet words of encouragement Dorian could murmur in a lifetime.

Klaus did respond to that rationale, giving up with a quiet moan. His hands worked against him on their own cognisance and jerked Dorian closer still, as did his hips, which jolted up against Dorian's cupping fingers.

Uttering a pleased sound, Dorian let the cupping turn to stroking, just his fingertips feathering up the underside of Klaus's cock.

"Don't stop," Klaus managed to moan at last, trying to press into those fingers harder. "Don't."

Fingers stroked a little harder. "You've decided you like it?" A question which needed answering as little as it needed asking, but Dorian hoped a light conversation would help Klaus focus. More than just the pleasure, there were things Dorian needed to say to him, and reassurances the blond needed in return that all was going well.

"Ja," Klaus whimpered, and it took more from him to say that than Dorian could ever know. Yes, he liked it, wanted it, wanted more, but it would change everything, wouldn't it? He'd become like Dorian, barely a man at all anymore, and that thought made the shaking hands on Dorian's back tremble harder. They gripped for comfort and familiarity, and found comfort, but not familiarity.

Familiarity would be to be alone in that library, to walk the halls quietly, aware of the sanctity of that night but not understanding it fully. He had a religion, but not faith, and how many people had the problem of using a religion as a shield from aspects of life, without believing. Dorian was an atheist, too, but he flaunted it, delving into holidays only for the frivolity of it. Klaus grasped tight to the solemnity of it.

A shift made his thoughts shatter again, and Dorian felt Klaus bury his face against his neck, shaking furiously from the war within him. To give in, or to fight it; to let Dorian do this to him, touch him like that, or... No more noise from Klaus, not encouragement, not protest. Just eerie, steely silence as he shifted his hips up to Dorian's hand, arms clutched tight around the blond. Against the side if his neck, jaw tickled by Klaus's silken soft hair, the earl could feel wetness.

There was no 'or'.

It was Dorian's greatest fantasy turned horribly wrong. It was supposed to have been a perfect moment, a communion of souls. Instead he found a Klaus divided in his arms, the part of the man which had sided with Dorian briefly despised by his other half. Together they could overpower it, and though it felt wrong to do so he didn't dare stop...

The silence was hardening. It needed to be broken before it could strengthen further, but even Dorian, the master of mindless chatter, could not win against it. Silence had slipped between his lips and lodged in his throat; words could not pass. And if they could somehow, what was there to say? Any reassurances would have been lies, and he needed to know the full extent of the harm he was doing -- would do and had already done -- before apologies could be made.

Skilled fingers continued to grasp and slip over Klaus's shaft, while Dorian's mind shied from the knowledge of what the wetness was against his throat, even as his eyes threatened to do the same in sympathy.

It couldn't come to an end fast enough for Klaus, and yet it came too fast for him. It took very little more touch, even with the stress that gripped Klaus tight, to shove him over the edge. A few more strokes, and Dorian could feel a soft moan muffled against his skin, Klaus's hands going tighter for a second as he came. It was so different from when relief was at his own hand, to have Dorian dragging it out of him.

Even that had gone wrong. Dorian would have liked to have had his mouth on Klaus as he came, to drink down the precious bitter fluid that was instead wasted in careless spurts. At the very least, he would have liked to have Klaus's mouth on his, and to drink the man's quiet moans instead. He continued to stroke though, lightened touches until the last of Klaus's shuddering had subsided, and then all he had left was the feel of strong hands on his back, and Klaus's face on his neck.

"Dorian..." Klaus pulled his face back a little, voice sad and confused -- he wanted an explanation, guidance, *anything* to re-stabilize him in the middle of a world that was spinning out of control far too fast.

All Dorian had to offer him was love. Words were far inadequate to express it, so he kissed Klaus instead, fully aware of the risk involved. The kiss was completely honest, saying things in addition to love which Dorian would rather have kept hidden.

Love wasn't tangible enough for Klaus to ground himself with; but the kiss was. Dorian could feel a hundred things from Klaus: uncertainty, fear, a need for comfort, a need for assurance, a need for the love that Dorian was offering. For a moment, Klaus's desperation spread through to Dorian, before pulling itself back as Klaus broke the kiss, and found himself completely lost, still.

He had Dorian in his arms, and they were together, in the same place together. But everything else were just spinning outlying points! What now...? He couldn't bring himself yet to touch Dorian in that way, could he...? Green eyes, hazed and a little reddened by tears he'd deny having shed, looked into pools of blue.

For an instant he'd been touched by what Klaus was feeling, and the experience had left Dorian shaken. Blue eyes, softened in the firelight, held the shadows of fear, but they were also kind and uncomfortably understanding. "Shh, Darling..." Shifting, Dorian slid from the couch to kneel next to it, a random article of clothing retrieved from the floor. "I'm going to clean you off. And then I'm going to hold you, tightly, for the rest of the night, and you can talk if you want, or sleep..."

Klaus was pulling himself back together carefully, and slowly, sitting up a little to nod at Dorian's suggestion. He couldn't let Dorian leave -- if the thief left now, or before he figured out a little more of this, then it might as well have been as if Dorian had never came that night, or that first Christmas Eve, years ago. The fear was there, as Dorian slid from his grasp, that he wouldn't come back. Dorian always came back, though. Surely Klaus knew that, after such long association with the man? Carefully the thief wiped down Klaus's stomach and groin before crawling back into the man's arms.

The contact of bare skin against skin was too much for a moment, and Klaus held Dorian stiffly, barely yielding until he forced his muscles to slacken. "You won't leave...?"

If Dorian had noticed, he didn't comment. The thief was heat in Klaus's arms, contact in all the right places, leaching tension out of Klaus and replacing it with comfort. "I won't leave. I'll never leave you now, Klaus."

Whether that was a comfort, or...

Silence was threatening again, and Klaus didn't want it to take over again. "Was.... what now...?"

Soft lips found the major's collar bone. "Just like I said; I'm going to keep vigil, and enjoy every second of being in your arms, and pointedly *not* think about the morning."

Klaus wasn't going to think about it, either -- the moment he was in was unsettling enough, even with Dorian held tight in his arms. "All right." He turned his head just a little, to press against the curls of Dorian's hair, breathing in the softness and clean smell there. "Can... we talk? About anything?"

"Anything, Darling. Ask me anything, or just talk, and I'll listen."

"I don't know... what to talk about but... I don't want to just lay here awake." If Dorian wasn't there, where would he be? Down in the tiny gym, doing push-ups, maybe taking out his energy on a punching bag. He certainly wasn't tired, though.

Finally Dorian betrayed himself, brushing his thumb over Klaus's chest lightly, the motion one of absent release of nervousness. "Anything. I don't know either." If he talked about the usual things, Klaus's beauty, or how much he'd enjoyed doing what he'd done, Klaus's embarrassment would have made the situation even more tense. But suddenly he did know. "That song. Did you ever finish it?"

Song...? "I'm still working on it. Don't have very much time." Time where there was no one else in the house, and the mood, the *feeling* was right. Where he wouldn't be disturbed, and there was nothing else for him to do.

There were always other things to do. In fact, he hadn't worked on it since last Christmas Eve, a year ago exactly.

"I hope you do, someday," Dorian told him, sounding somehow drowsy and alert all at once. "Do you know, I catch myself humming it sometimes."

"Someday, I might finish it..." Last Christmas, he'd finally written it down properly at last, and he'd added a few more bars in the hours before Dorian had arrived. It came slowly, though, and he always had to re-blend the area where he'd stopped each year. "'s not going to be soon."

"It's good though," Dorian murmured. "Worth being patient for."

"I wouldn't think you're a patient person," Klaus told him quietly. "But you're more patient than me."

"You're worth being patient for, too," Klaus was reminded. It was too like a compliment though, and Dorian reminded himself to back down from similar remarks.

The weight of that light compliment, though, seemed to stifle Klaus again. Silence crept nearer...

"How long have you been an Earl?" /How long have you been carrying your family's standard?/

Carrying it without any hope of being able to ever pass the burden onto someone else. He'd be buried with that standard... "Eight years, ever since my father died."

"Doesn't carry much weight anymore." Klaus knew that first-hand. What was it? A social burden, a huge house full of shit he didn't use, and money he didn't care about.

"I wonder if it did, even in Benedict's time. All a title did then was make you a target for those who wanted the nice things you had."

"At least then it carried power." Now the only thing that gave him any power was his military rank and his reputation as an ill-tempered asshole, which he used to the best of his advantage whenever possible. He knew people hated him for his efficiency and intentness of mission, and so very seldom did that knowledge catch up to him...

"Power is for you, Klaus," Dorian uttered softly. "I hate it. I hate that people are handed it, when they haven't earned it through skill or cunning or intelligence... I hate when it's misused."

Ever the idealist. "How did you get through school in one piece, Dorian, thinking like that?" Not that it was a bad thing at all -- just controversial!

Of course Klaus wouldn't understand. Very gently, and not without humour, Dorian explained. "Oh, to be certain there were great bullies like I imagine you must have been. Just as there were always those who wanted to make trouble for me, there were always those more powerful, who were my admirers." Just because he didn't like power didn't mean he didn't know how to manipulate it to his advantage! "And when that failed, there was always blackmailÖ" That last bit sounded teasing, but with Dorian one never knew!

"I'd guessed," Klaus snorted, shifting again. Another hour, and he'd be tired enough to sleep; a small blessing, because it would stop the cacophony of physical sensations screaming at him. Slowly, he stroked a hand down Dorian's spine, not venturing very far down the finely muscled length. "Sounds very British."

Once he had Klaus talking, Dorian didn't dare let him stop. The hand gently stroking his back was proof enough that it was working... "And you, Klaus? Am I right about you?"

"Right about me how?"

"You were one of the trouble-makers, weren't you?" It was terribly romantic, to think that upstanding, honour driven Klaus could have been a rebel in his youth.

"I went to a boarding-school. It started when a group tried to pick a fight on me because they thought it would be... fun, I suppose. Most of them ended up in the infirmary," Klaus told him, frowning a little. Childhood had been... well, there. His father and the butler had raised him, and he was nearly a carbon copy of his father.

Dorian raised thoughtful eyes to his love's face. "I would have had a real trouble with you. You would not have been among my admirers, and I know you can't be bought or blackmailed." It was a very good thing they'd not gone to the same school!

"The younger boys used to use my name as a threat to keep away bullies; I doubt I would have even noticed you were there." It wasn't meant to offend -- it was the truth. He hardly noticed anyone else there, unless they caused him particular trouble. Otherwise, it was just his books. The teachers had been frightened of him and his flat glances, intensity of study. But now those eyes flicked towards Dorian's face, taking it in lazily.

"Oh, you would have noticed me, Darling," he was assured, as Dorian gently kissed his jaw. "If you can imagine, I was even less discreet when young, and you must have been a very handsome boy..."

"I wouldn't know."

Dorian glanced away in mock-surprise. "This *is* a library, is it not? And you *do* keep school year books here? Tomorrow, I'm going to call you on it."

"How?" Klaus asked him seriously. "Your opinion isn't going to change even if you're wrong."

A sigh, exasperated though fond. "Indulge me, Darling. If I want to see a picture of my love as a boy, what harm is there in it? I want to know everything about you -- what your favourite food is, and what sort of shampoo you use for your hair. This is just a place to begin."

Klaus sighed back at Dorian, closing his eyes for a moment. "I looked like Z, but taller and stronger."

"Surely not just like Z! I can tell one pretty German boy from the next, Darling." It *was* a start, though. At least Klaus was willing to make the effort of comparison. He was talking, and not nearly so tense under Dorian's weight as he had been.

In fact, his hand was still making its way up and down Dorian's back. It was as if talking was keeping Klaus's mind from thoughts of sex or anything else that frightened him. "I'll show you the picture tomorrow," Klaus murmured, realising that Dorian had somehow used circular challenging logic to get him to cave in.

"I would like that very much," Dorian murmured, for the first time that night sounding more drowsy than anything. That Klaus was even thinking of tomorrow -- and Dorian's continued presence associated with it -- was a good sign.

A tiny smile twitched Klaus's face, and he closed his eyes completely. "Good night, Dorian. Merry Christmas."

And as the thief drifted to sleep, he could have sworn he heard someone quietly singing 'Mary had a little lamb'.


End file.
